Qyn

The Imperial sailed through the air, straight to Byrn. The Tundra cried out as his cruel claws made contact, knocking him from his perch and crashing into the tangled roots below. He gasped for breath, kicking and swiping to free himself from the knots of roots that now held him in place. How had he seen through his camouflage? Mimic was nowhere to be seen, but Byrn dared not cry out for his familiar.

To his horror, what little bit of the sun that peered through the dense canopy was blotted again by the larger dragon rearing to his full height. As desperately as he flailed to snap himself free of the tangle of roots, their woody skin was not so easily broken, and he had no time to even begin to defend himself when the Nature warrior descended upon him.

Claws buried into his chest, the one area that sat exposed, free from the binding roots that held him to his deathbed. Byrn roared, but could hardly even kick out his legs in his agony to shove the attacker away.

"Pox-fiend!" The dragon spat down on him. "How dare you defile our realm?! You disgusting beasts are the scum of our world!"

"Ha..." Byrn forced his eyes open to meet his adversary's. "Self-righteous Nature dragon... your kind broke our treaty and killed innocents of our realm first... I'd rather be a disgusting beast in an honest flight than some all-mighty elitist pretending to be so pure!"

Byrn spat. Even if he was pinned, by both his enemy and the environment itself, he may as well die with dignity. As the Imperial reeled back in disgust, furiously shaking his head to scatter away the phlegm, he mustered the most confident smile his energy could allow.

"I hope it infects you," he hissed. "Maybe you can learn the struggle of our fellow Plaguelings."

"You...!" The Imperial snarled, then brought his claws down again.

Byrn ground his teeth as the claws bore into his skin. He clenched his eyes shut, giving up the struggle to free himself to save his strength. Though the needle-like claws raked across this shoulders and tore skin from his sides, he was determined to not howl, not to let his enemy know his suffering. Endurance was what Plague was known for--and he would make this a tedious, dissatisfying kill. Perhaps a fellow solider could take him out while he was distracted tearing Byrn to ribbons.

It was a shock to find his eyes opening again. For a moment, Byrn thought this was the afterlife, wherever that would take him, that he would find himself surrounded by his fellow fallen Plague warriors. Perhaps he would even see his mother's great ancestors, loyal Guardian servants to the Plaguebringer...

The searing pain that coursed over his body told him otherwise. Byrn's teeth ground against each other as the pain truly fired up, sending agonizing pulses of white-hot pain all over his body. Now that his swimming vision was clearing, he could see the Viridian Labyrinth's dense canopy overhead, the high noon sun now fleeting from the canopy gap and the bright blue sky had turned an ever-deepening orange. It would have been beautiful, and Byrn would have liked to lay there and appreciate such exotic scenery without the warring around him, but every inch of his body cried out for reprieve. He could feel the sickening sensation of blood pouring from open wounds, pooling around his slack limbs. Yet he couldn't even draw the bleeding limbs to him in an effort to stop up the blood, as those tricky roots that must have been some sentient creation of the Gladekeeper shackled him in place.

A flying figure blotted out what little sun still hung in the sky. Byrn's chest heaved as the image of the Imperial descending upon him flashed to the forefront of his mind. But what approached was not an Imperial, nor a dragon of any variety.

"Mimic," Byrn breathed with what little strength he had left.

The moth flitted busily overhead. It seemed to be carrying some bundles of herbs in its legs. Byrn was about to inquire what it was, but he soon found out--a hiss being forced out of him as Mimic landed and jammed the bundle of plants on one of his gaping flesh wounds. And Plaguebringer help him, it stung.

"Gh, Mimic--!" He hissed, gritting his teeth. "Stop...! That hurts!"

It was a cry that fell on deaf ears. The moth continued to go about its business.